


Two Worlds Collided

by TheMoments (TBs_LMC)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Battle, Bisexual Cullen Rutherford, Confident Cullen Rutherford, Confident Dorian Pavus, Dragon of Tevinter, Dragons, Dread Wolf, Ferelden (Dragon Age), INXS - Freeform, Implied Sexual Content, Lion of Ferelden, Lions, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Orlais (Dragon Age), Skyhold (Dragon Age), Tevinter Imperium (Dragon Age), Tevinters, Thedas (Dragon Age), Venatori, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29413548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TBs_LMC/pseuds/TheMoments
Summary: Dorian and Cullen. The collision is fiery. The force shakes Skyhold to its core. The intensity tears worlds apart. The aftermath scorches the very heavens…and saves the world.
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Two Worlds Collided

**Author's Note:**

> The story is based on the song "Never Tear Us Part" by INXS.

**TWO WORLDS COLLIDED**

* * *

> _I_
> 
> _I was standing_
> 
> _You were there_
> 
> _Two worlds collided_
> 
> _And they could never tear us apart_

Cullen caught him, only his arms between the mage and Haven’s cold, hard ground. The man was exhausted. The man was beautiful. The man sparked _desire_. The man was nearly forgotten until camp, when no one knew if the Tal-Vashoth whose hand glowed green had survived his encounter with the harbinger of death.

Eyes met eyes. Cullen’s seared hot and bright as the Tevinter mage’s nostrils flared. Two great beasts circling one another from opposite sides of a campfire, tension crackling as loudly as the logs. A muffled growl of need. A feral whiff catching scent. Broken by Leliana’s return from watching for Adaar to appear. “Next shift,” she stated, tired and cold, before heading into her and Josephine’s tent.

Cullen tore his eyes from Dorian’s. Felt a heated gaze burning fire in his back. Didn’t feel the cold for the rest of his watch. Felt even warmer when Adaar appeared in the distance, hand shouting green light that bounced off the surrounding mountains with the loudest silence he’d ever heard.

Forgotten again, a weeks-long trek through the uncharted world of snow and mountain with Cullen up front watching the apostate elf closely and Dorian near the rear nursing a chancellor, until Solas gave them Skyhold. Adaar became Inquisitor. Cullen got an office and a loft and a hole in his roof because he was a cold, hard man in his needs, soft on the inside but rigid in what he held close and wanted and desired, doors remaining closed but the place he slept always open as if tempting a dragon to perch above, to invade his soul, to dare breathe flames upon his skin.

In the darkness he was at peace. The stars shone down with disinterest, plying man with their beauty even as they ignored his pleas for order and understanding. A scratching, scraping sound and the door below was opened and then closed. The dragon had indeed come to perch at last, giving in to the heady circling and barely contained games and curtailed, abrupt words.

Cullen smelled him before he saw him appear at his ladder. Breathed in deeply. Wanted. Needed. A fire that burned hotter than even Dorian’s most incinerative fireball. The mage in his all-consuming desire glowed pale blue magic all over. Cullen’s internals reached out with clawing hands for the lyrium-infused blood and they collided there, clothes melted away by chance, choice, frantic hands tearing at armors and buckles, knots and boots.

Cries echoing into the mountains, bouncing off stone and disappearing into sky, the roar of the lion and the answering call of the dragon enveloping the landscape. Two worlds crashing together without word or form, without confession or thought. Drawn inexplicably into a slow and fast spiral that inevitably detonated as a commander became even more demanding of his troops and a mage became even more brutal toward offending countrymen. Lyrium held no more quarter, only the strength of a Ferelden-bred hero rising to the tops of Skyhold’s tallest towers. Magister hysteria held no more sway, only the ferocity of Tevinter nobility rising against the tide of Venatori dedicated to the destruction of all.

The commander and his troops, the mage and his allies, tore through Ferelden and Orlais, cutting a swath with a massive giant whose gentle hand slew demons side-by-side with loyal, trusted, proven loves and friends, wrangled rifts into submission through pure will and united every land in the fight, every city in the war, every human and elf and dwarf against a growling, biting, fighting, deceitful wolf hiding behind what had once been almost a god.

Troops tore brother from brother, demanding the choice: Venatori or the Inquisition. There was no middle chantry ground, no space given for those unwilling to commit to the cause that was the only thing standing between Thedas and doom upon all the world. The skies burned and roiled and seethed as mages proved worth, saved, led by the fearless who took _pride_ in every spell he cast, in every twirl of his staff, in every incantation as the dead rose from his very will and the Fade itself bowed to his every whim.

Strong, stronger, made invincible side by side as kingdoms were held and cities were invaded and people were saved and a great horned giant combed the lands leaving not one left behind even as the unwavering savior mind of Inquisition soldiers and mages in their fight for righteous justice became legendary within the moments of their battles and beyond through the annals of authors and tales of bards.

The lion led the those bearing sword, shield and bow. The dragon led those whose hands wove destruction and healing from nothing in equal measure. And the gentle giant led them all until the very heavens themselves bowed in submission, torn asunder and returned to former wholeness by the massive force in which many worlds united and refused to be torn apart by countrymen, naysayers, tongue-waggers, mage haters, templar loathers, unfaithful, chantry, Tevinter, red templars, would-be power mongers or even an ancient false god who thought himself far superior to anything and everything that fell beneath him, but who very badly underestimated the forces that stood against him.

Only dragons could fly and singe with but a thought.

And lions, fiercely brave even when facing down an entire country ruled by mages, and one wolf who wished to preside over all.

Wolves could do naught but run with their tails between their legs when dragons and lions became one for all time, in the eyes of a world and a future that would never forget.

And thus it was that the veil, re-torn in an effort no different to that of Corypheus by an equally misled megalomaniacal figure from the past, became the focal point for the fire of the dragon, the bravery of the lion, and each and every man and woman who hunted the Dread Wolf until they scorched the very heavens with the flames of his burning pyre.

* * *

He tensed as the dragon appeared at his door, eyes burning in the darkness, lit from within. Years had passed. The young now had hold of the mantle while the lion rested in restless desire, waiting for this moment. They stilled. Their eyes blazed. Their bodies yearned.

Dorian was standing.

Cullen was there.

They collided, and Thedas shook.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I don’t always see Cullen as the sweet, self-deprecating emotional mess that everyone else does. I see him often as the extremely brave and fierce lion that he is. And because I also don’t always see Dorian as the sweet, self-deprecating emotional mess that everyone else does. I see him often as the confident dragon that he is, the dragon that we see adorning all Tevinter decorations.


End file.
